To Be a Loser
by Hive Mentality
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on the movie, the comic, or both. Most recent: Clay turns to alcohol to chase away his memories. Aisha has no qualms with that, he's not going to be doing it in a run-down bar. Friendship!
1. Go Petunias

**I figured that since I requested that the site add the fandom (can you believe they didn't have one until now?) I ought to add some stories to it! So, this will be a collection of drabbles that are based off of the movie, the comic, or a mixture of the two. My main goal with this will be to work on characterization, or even just to get some ideas out there. On that note, I challenge all readers to write something too, so that we can get this fandom on its feet. I don't really care if you're for the movie or the comics (or both), just write!**

**Based off of: Movie**

It was almost a tradition—every time the Petunias were up against a team like the Marigolds, Jensen's automatic reaction was to become even more obsessed with following the team than he normally was. Every time he touched a computer he was inclined to check their stats, and, assuming that he managed to get into the game and _stay_ until the end without getting thrown out, he would shout and scream at the referee, making even the most diligent soccer moms red in the face as they covered their children's ears.

His niece never seemed to mind, though her parents certainly did, and despite his constant shouting throughout the game, he was still loved by all of the players (or rather, the Petunias, because the opposing team seemed to side with the referee in most cases).

Another part of this tradition was the rapid emptying of Jensen's wallet. He couldn't help but take any bets that Pooch or Aisha offered, regardless of the odds—to him, it didn't matter if the bet was proposed two weeks in advance or two minutes before the game ended, he refused to bet against or fail to bet on her team. To him, every game they lost was regarded a minor setback and a valiant effort, and every won game as a successfully completed life-or-death mission, and he made sure to reward his niece, and the rest of the team, accordingly.


	2. No Need To Say It

**I have nothing to say about this beyond mentioning that it is **_**incredibly sappy. **_**Why did I write this? Who knows, who knows…But hey, I guess I can live with it… On another note, movie-verse!**

All of them were among the best in the field—together, they were even better. But they were more than just an elite team. They were practically a family. They looked out for each other, and they secretly worried about each other, despite the fact that most of them would blatantly deny it if ever asked. That didn't matter, either, because it didn't need to be said. They all knew, first hand, that it was the truth.

Whenever Pooch was driving through the line of fire, or Cougar was scaling a building to get a better vantage point, whenever Jensen broke into a heavily guarded area to get necessary information, or Aisha and Clay went after their target despite the risks, someone was always watching, lingering, just in case they were needed.

No one could deny that their breath would catch every time they saw another in danger, not because they didn't believe in them, but because they knew that no matter what, they didn't want to have to say good bye to another member of the team.

**And just a general question to the fandom: what, if any, pairings do you like for this fandom? I would like to hear, maybe help you get your fix! XD**


	3. Don't Mind Us

**This was entirely inspired by the movie Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Oh, the fun. Jensen/Cougar~!**

Jensen and Cougar had slipped into the back room of the club with the intention of placing a wire tap in a room they suspected may be hosting a meeting regarding Max's latest deal. Outside, the party was still thriving, despite the fact that it was almost two in the morning. It didn't seem like anyone was going home anytime soon. Jensen placed the bug into one of the plastic flower arrangements on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Just as he was making sure that it was operational, Cougar put a hand on his shoulder.

"Someone's coming." He said. Jensen quickly scanned the room for an alternate exit. He found none.

"Shit, what do we—" Jensen's panicked expression quickly morphed into one of surprise as Cougar grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him roughly into a kiss. The door swung open to reveal a group of sharply dressed men—quite out of place in the laid-back atmosphere of the club. Jensen stiffened and pulled away to gape at the men who had just entered. They seemed irritated, but, in a way, amused as well.

"Hey, lover-boys. Get a new fucking room. Now." One of them jeered. Cougar nodded and began steering Jensen outside as Jensen stammered out an apology. When the door closed, Jensen turned to Cougar:

"What was that?" Cougar shrugged nonchalantly and walked back toward the club.

Later, when Clay asked for a report, Cougar simply replied that it had gone just as planned.


	4. I'm Up for It

**First rule of going on missions: Always withhold information if caught. Second rule of going on missions: **_**Always withhold information if caught…**_** Borrowing from Fight Club? …Never!**

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jensen spat as they forced him to his knees, and everyone knew it was bullshit—you don't wander into restricted areas on accident. None of them could convince him that they knew otherwise, though, because to him, information withheld could mean the difference between a mission's failure, and its success.

And the mission's success was a matter of life and death—always.

One of the men in front of him scowled, and Jensen matched it with the cheekiest smirk he could manage—trying to not show how nervous he really was. At a nod, one of the men kicked him in the stomach, while the other two restrained him. He coughed, gagged, and swore. But when they asked him again, his answer was the same. "I don't know anything, fuck you."

It wasn't that he had a death wish, on the contrary. He wasn't stupid, which was less than he could say for his new "friends"—he could hear quite clearly through the earpiece that they had yet to notice he was wearing.

Aisha asking if Cougar had eyes on him, Cougar's negative response. And then Clay, hot-headed as ever: "Fuck this, I'm gonna shoot 'em in the fucking face."

So no, he wasn't stupid, and he didn't have a death wish. He would rather take a few broken ribs than tell them anything that could end up costing the mission, or one of his team mates.

Besides, broken ribs were _awesome…_ although not as awesome as gunshot wounds. He was still up for doing _that _again.


	5. Sobriety is Overrated

**So, I am very excited because the first two graphic novels from The Losers arrived today, and I got to read them! They were great, and I learned a bunch.**

**For example, Pooch's wife? Yeah, her name is Jolene—the more you know! He also has two daughters in the comics, not a son so… two daughters and a son for fanfictions? I think so! And… y'know, Roque is white. But I already knew that, and I like the movie Roque better. Comic Roque reminds me of a weasel. Or a snake. *shudders***

**So yes, I am a very happy Losers fan right now, so I decided to write up a… whatever you call this. It's my first time writing for Clay or Aisha, so I'm not sure on the quality…**

It was getting hard to stand, which was really saying something—he'd never been one that couldn't handle his alcohol. Even leaning against the bar, with his head against the wall Clay could tell that the room was swirling behind his eyelids. He was starting to seriously question his decision to drink himself into a stupor, but as soon as he got close to forgetting, the images came back with shocking clarity.

The room is hazy yellow from the smoke and bad lighting, but he couldn't see any of it. Because contrary to popular belief, he _did _care about his team—Roque included. And although he hated the bastard for betraying him, he was still an old friend, and he'd still been largely responsible for his death. So even though it didn't make sense, he regretted what he did as much as he was proud that he'd done it.

And the emotions conflicted.

So he drank.

Clay fingered his half-full glass, willing himself to clear his mind as best as possible, and then chased the memories away with the remainder of the glass. It was warm, tasted disgusting, and did absolutely nothing—the effect of the alcohol had stopped working hours ago. He ordered another glass, closed his eyes, and went back to pretending that he hadn't had way too much to drink.

The door opened, characterized by a breath of fresh air, and Clay was inclined to ignore it. That is, until _it_ came to sit next to him, and he realized who, exactly, _it _was.

"Aisha."

"You look like shit." She said offhandedly, intercepting the drink that he'd ordered to down the glass. Clay shrugged and watched her finish the glass. She traced the rim of the glass with a finger, staring at him pensively. After a long moment of her staring, she finally nodded toward the door. "Let's go."

"I'm not done here." Clay muttered. Aisha reached over the bar to grab the nearest unopened bottle, ignoring the bartenders protests.

"Sure you are." She handed him the bottle, and helped him stand. "But taking some for the road can't hurt."


End file.
